


Philia

by xxSparksxx



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Brotherly Love, F/M, Gen, Past Rape/Non-con, look this question just bugged me okay, non-graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 23:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20478881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSparksxx/pseuds/xxSparksxx
Summary: (/ˈfɪliə/; Ancient Greek: φιλία); "brotherly love”."wanting for someone what one thinks good, for his sake and not for one's own, and being inclined, so far as one can, to do such things for him." (Aristotle)In which Sam’s living quarters are discussed, prior to Drake and Morwenna’s wedding, and a new accord reached between brothers.





	Philia

**Author's Note:**

> This literally arose out of the single question 'where is Sam living in s5?' because he's clearly not living in the cottage with Drake and Morwenna, though they're feeding him sometimes. 
> 
> A related question arose, which was 'how have Sam and Ross gone from Ross disliking Sam to Sam being one of the super-squad of Demelza+Zacky+Sam at the mine while Ross is away?'.
> 
> This is my fumbling attempt to answer both questions. Beta-read by the wonderful Lucretiassister.

“Sister, can I speak with ee?”

“Of course, Sam.” Demelza finished feeding the chickens and brushed corn dust from her hands. Sam was looking solemn, which wasn’t unusual, but particularly so, as if there was something troubling him. Her mind turned over all the things it might be. His flock, the meeting house: nothing was amiss there as far as she knew, and she knew most of the troubles of her brother’s neighbours and friends. There was Drake, of course, but hopefully they could both stop worrying about Drake, now that Morwenna had come to him and there was nothing standing in the way of their wedding. Drake’s happiness was a tangible thing, so lovely to see after such a long period of heartache. “Come inside, I’ll fetch us some tea,” she invited, but Sam shook his head, as she’d half-expected. He was never uncomfortable in any place, confident of being equal among men as his religion decreed, but even now there was sometimes a friction between he and Ross, who could rarely hide his impatience in the face of Sam’s devout faith. They were on better terms than they had been before the flooding of the mine, but it was not the brotherly relationship that had developed between Drake and Ross, and she doubted it ever would be.

Besides, Sam was a sensitive soul, and he had perhaps sensed some of the strain that had filled Nampara since Demelza’s unexpected return from London, and that still sometimes lingered in the corners even though she and Ross were reconciled and reunited. 

“’Tis about Drake and Morwenna,” Sam said, taking up the pail of scraps she’d brought out for the pigs and letting her guide them across the farmyard to the sties. 

“Is aught amiss? I know Morwenna felt t’would be unseemly to wed in haste now, after…” Even now, in death, she couldn’t _quite_ bring herself to speak Elizabeth’s name casually. 

“Her cousin’s death, aye,” Sam agreed. “’Tis only fitting, though there was little proper affection between them, I know. There’s naught to stand in their way now, so there’s no harm in waiting three weeks for the banns. ‘Tis good of ee not to begrudge the fee for the license, sister.” Demelza waved that away. She’d taken it from her housekeeping money, and Ross hadn’t questioned it on his return. It had been little enough, she’d felt, to secure her brother’s happiness after so long. Nobody could have foreseen what might happen to make the license needless. “But ‘tis that wait that concerns me now, sister,” Sam went on. “She insist she cannot go back to her mother’s house, and though she and Drake keep to separate beds…” He trailed off, and emptied the pail into the sty. The pigs came at a brisk pace to nose through the scraps and see what had been given to them today.

“’Tis perhaps not appropriate? I know, Sam.” She watched as the big sow nosed two young hogs out of her way to get at a choice bit of turnip. “I asked Morwenna to stay with us until the wedding, but she wishes to stay with Drake.” She leaned against the sty wall and wondered how much of Morwenna’s tale had been shared with Sam. Anything he’d heard would have come from Drake, she was sure. Morwenna had spoken of it to her, falteringly and with shivers wracking her slight form, but she thought it was the bond of womanhood that had let Morwenna speak at all. She did not think Morwenna would easily say such things to a man other than Drake, nor want it widely known. She herself had said nothing of it to Ross, and would say nothing unless he asked her some direct question. She wouldn’t lie to him, but it wasn’t her secret to tell, and she valued Morwenna’s trust too much to treat it lightly.

Sam would know something of Morwenna’s pain, she decided. He _must_ know something. They were all together in the cottage, all three of them, and such a secret could not be concealed at such close quarters.

“I think she only feels safe, just now, with Drake,” she said delicately. 

“I know.” Sam mimicked her posture, his gaze focused on something elsewhere. “That man was not a Godly man,” he said in a low voice, the harshest judgement he could pass on anyone. “That an ordained minister could behave in such a way…”

“You and I both know that ordained ministers are not always so because of a calling,” she reminded him. He nodded, silent, and she reached out and hooked her arm through his, leaning against him comfortably. “But what happened, happened,” she went on, “and though Morwenna’s free of him now, the marks do linger. We can’t blame her for that.”

“No, ‘tis not a question of blame,” Sam hurried to assure her. “Only that it sit not easily with me, she alone in the cottage with we two brothers. We know there is no sin in it, but I have heard unkind words, in Sawle, and she have suffered enough without us calling gossip down on her head.”

“She has,” Demelza agreed, “but what do you think to do, brother? For she’ll not be parted from him, and I haven’t the heart to ask her again. The look she gave me at the notion…” It had cut hard, that look, all forlorn desolation, a wounded animal clinging to her meagre bit of sanctuary. Demelza had meant well, in inviting her to Nampara – had hoped to show, by the invitation, that Morwenna was welcomed in truth as well as in words to their family – but she would not repeat the offer, knowing how much the idea pained Morwenna.

“Nay, ‘tis not Drake or Morwenna I think of moving,” said Sam, earnestly. “’Tis I.”

“You!”

“Aye, sister,” he nodded. “’Tis not only the gossip, mind ee. ‘Tis Morwenna’s comfort I d’think on, also. With Drake, she be happy enough, though still unsettled. But with I also…”

“You think she would be easier without you there always,” she understood. Not that anyone could think Sam capable of such wickedness as Morwenna had been subjected to, but one could not always control one’s instinctive responses, and she had been cruelly abused. Now that Sam mentioned it, Demelza realised that Morwenna was indeed more on her guard, when there were men around. Not Drake, never he, but with Sam, or Ross, Morwenna grew watchful and held herself so tightly. She knew, she must know, that none of the men here would harm her, but the instincts of a beaten wretch were strong. It was only natural that she should be less comfortable around other men, for now. Time and patience would unlearn the response, but in the meantime, Sam was right. Morwenna would be more comfortable without his presence in the cottage.

“But where would you go?” she asked. There was scarce room in Sawle for all the souls who lived there; she could not think of a place for him, save perhaps above Sally Chilloff’s kiddley. She sometimes rented a room out. But Sam could not go there, not Preacher Carne. “You could come to us, here,” she added, but doubtfully. Ross would not object if there was need, but she felt it might not be a comfortable experience, for either he or Sam. Ross had little time for religion, and it was so very much a part of Sam’s being. They managed well enough on visits, and in the mine they were usually of one mind, but living daily together was a different thing. The children would be delighted, for they adored their Uncle Sam, but the adults…

“Nay, I should not wish to impose,” Sam said, not unexpectedly. “I thought perhaps – there is a cottage near Mellin, do ee know it” ‘Tis a little run down, but with not much work, it would make a fitty home.”

“Near Mellin – oh! Mark Daniel’s house. Reath Cottage.” She knew it, of course, but it was so overgrown with brambles, so tumbled down, with stones missing where they’d been carted off for use elsewhere, that it had almost faded into the landscape around it. Nobody wanted to live there; even now, folks whispered about a dead girl’s face in the window. She knew Ross had occasionally toyed with the idea of tearing the whole thing down, but it was so tucked away, out of sight in a valley near Mellin, that the idea never developed into action. Perhaps he, too, felt that it was Keren Daniel’s second grave.

Such superstitions would not trouble Sam, of course, and it was years since Mark had built the home for Keren. Perhaps it was time for it to be brought back to life; perhaps a new inhabitant would finally banish the ghost. “T’would need a powerful lot of work, Sam,” she cautioned him. “You could not stay there now as it is.”

“It don’t need so very much,” he disagreed. “I’ve been looking it over, and with Drake’s help, it could be made comfortable with a day or two’s work. I can find timber to stop up the gaps, until I can get stone, and aught else can be done by and by.” He was perhaps exaggerating a little, but if he’d been to the cottage lately to see it, he would know better than she. She cast her mind over what she could remember of the contents of the attics of Nampara: perhaps there were things there that could be given to Sam. Most of it had gone to Drake, when Ross had set him up with the smithy in the wake of their adventure in France. Still, something could be found to make the rundown cottage a little more comfortable for Sam, she had no doubt. She would make sure he did not move empty-handed.

“Will ee speak to brother Ross about it?” Sam asked then, earnestly. “I dislike asking the favour, after he give us the cottage in Sawle, and the meeting house, but I’ll gladly pay rent on the cottage.”

Demelza squeezed his arm and shook her head. “Nay, brother, you’ll not pay us a penny. I’ll not have it, and nor will Ross. You’re family. But I’ll speak to him, if you’d rather.” 

“Thank ee, sister.”

* * *

“Move from Sawle? To Reath Cottage? But why?”

Demelza finished plaiting her hair and turned on her stool to face Ross. He had been busy all afternoon, and the evening had been wholly occupied by the children, so it was only now, at bedtime, that she had had a chance to raise Sam’s request with him. He stood by the bed, fidgeting with a button on his waistcoat that must have been pulled loose at some point during the day. She made a note to sew it back on in the morning, before he could go out looking like his wife didn’t take care of him. 

“Surely you can see why, Ross,” she said patiently. “Drake and Morwenna are to be wed.” She watched him fiddling for another moment, and then could no longer bear it. “Leave that, Ross, you’ll lose the button.”

“I shouldn’t have thought that would make much difference to whether Sam lives there or not,” Ross said, shrugging off the waistcoat. “I can’t imagine he’d create more work for Morwenna, if that’s what he’s worried about.”

“No, t’isn’t that.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and hesitated. Ross knew Morwenna’s previous marriage had been unhappy, but more than that he did not know, unless he had guessed something. Demelza hadn’t felt it was her secret to share, and ordinarily would never dream of sharing such a confidence without Morwenna’s consent, but she knew this mood in Ross. He couldn’t object in principle to the idea of Sam moving into a derelict cottage, and restoring it to habitable standard, but he didn’t understand the reasoning, and unless he did so, he was liable to continue to defer an answer in favour of questioning Sam’s motive.

“If it’s the impropriety, it would be better for Morwenna to come here,” Ross went on. “Though I’ve always thought it foolish to pay the gossips any attention.” He stretched, and a bone in his arm clicked audibly, an unwelcome reminder of his recent adventure in London. The wound was healed, but the bone beneath was still a little tender, and occasionally some action made it twinge uncomfortably – more so than he admitted to her, but Demelza knew him inside and out, and could tell when he was in discomfort. It would, perhaps, become like his foot: forgotten about most of the time, until some awkward movement or spell of wet, cold weather made the old injury flare up a little. 

“I’ve asked her,” she said, laying her hairbrush down on the dresser. “Folk do talk, but it wasn’t just that that made me ask. I thought t’would be a way to show her she’ll be truly part of our family, now. You and Drake be such good friends, these days, and I know you’re as happy for him as I am.”

“Of course,” Ross nodded. He began to undress further, discarding his shirt and breeches and reaching for a nightgown. The nights were cold at present; too cold for Demelza to linger at her dresser, in just her own nightdress and a shawl. She went to the bed and felt for the warming pan. It had done its job; the sheets were warm, where their feet would be. She withdrew it and set it by the hearth.. “I’m glad for him, that it’s all come good at last,” Ross was saying. “And of course she’ll be part of our family.” She smiled, knowing he couldn’t see her, for it did her heart a world of good, hearing him describe her brothers so. Not only _her_ family, but _theirs_. It wasn’t new, his open claim of kinship with Drake and Sam – they were included as a matter of course, in family gatherings and outings, just as Caroline and Dwight were – but whenever it was spoken in so many words, Demelza cherished it. It had not always been so. 

“Well, she won’t stay with us,” she said aloud, “and anyway, ‘tis not only the gossip that Sam seeks to put an end to. He feels he should give them their space and privacy, just they two.” She got into bed in a hurry, wanting to warm her feet, and in a minute Ross joined her, settling down with his hands clasped behind his head. 

“Why won’t she come?” he asked. “I should have thought it the best course of action. Then if Sam truly wants to leave the newly-weds their privacy, at least he’d have more time to make Mark’s cottage more habitable.”

It was the question she could have predicted would come next, and she had to give him an answer. This was the whole point of the matter: the reason why Sam felt, rightly, that he must leave the cottage, and as soon as could be managed. Morwenna’s deep wounds, her pain, that would take time to mend. And Sam was right, Demelza thought. If the cottage in Sawle became theirs alone, a sanctuary for Drake and Morwenna together, it must surely aid her recovery. She could not be a full wife to him yet – Morwenna had made that clear to Demelza, in the relaying of the dreadful things she had suffered from her first husband. Drake had hopes, Demelza knew; Morwenna had few. But either way, making that cottage their home together, creating safeness for Morwenna within those walls – even from those threats that were not real but were still acutely feared – that could only help Morwenna and Drake both, as they began their new life together, a life so unlike that of a normal married couple.

She shifted over onto her side, so she was facing him, and he did likewise, adjusting his position so they each had a head on a pillow, and an arm around the other’s waist. 

“What aren’t you telling me?” he inquired. 

“’Tis Morwenna’s story, or else I’d have shared it sooner,” she said, apologetic though he’d spoken gently, without any sign of irritation at the concealment, as he might once have shown. “And you mustn’t let on that you know, she’d not like it.”

“Alright,” he agreed. He was frowning a little, confused, but he gave his word readily. His trust was like a warm blanket, wrapping around her, and she smiled at him, so glad of it, and of him. His mouth quirked upwards, but his brows were still drawn together; it made him look endearingly boyish, somehow. Then her smile faded. Not for Morwenna, this delightful closeness, this intimacy with a beloved husband. It was an intimacy that went beyond the physical, though, so perhaps she would find it with Drake, even if she could not bear to have him touch her, yet. “What is it?” Ross asked, lifting a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Morwenna don’t feel able to come to us, even for a few weeks, because she fears leaving Drake,” she said. It was perhaps not the best place to start, but it was an answer to his question. “Reverend Whitworth…he used her cruelly.” A monster, Morwenna had called him. The thought of what he’d done to Morwenna made Demelza feel ill. 

“I know he was unkind to her, but –,”

“Not merely unkind,” she interrupted. “He…abused her. Physically, emotionally – in any way he could.”

Ross was silent for a while before he spoke, a growing darkness clouding his face. When he did speak, his voice was full of contempt and condemnation.

“He raped her?” he asked. The bluntness of his language showed the depths of his disgust. Demelza nodded mutely. “My god,” he muttered. “If the man weren’t dead already –,” He cut himself off, too angry to continue. Despite the horror of the subject, despite the anguish she felt on Morwenna’s behalf, Demelza found herself proud of the man she called husband. It was not a crime, she knew: a man could not rape his wife, in the eyes of the law. But it was abhorrent nonetheless, and she was unspeakably glad that Ross was a man who not only agreed it was so, but made his disgust for it plain. “That odious man,” he muttered, when he had mastered himself again. “Drake knows of this, of course?”

“Oh, yes. Of course. And Sam do know enough that he feels he makes it worse for her, his presence there. ‘Tis improper too, of course, and there’s some talk in the village, but mostly he wishes to make Morwenna as comfortable as she can be.” He opened his mouth, but she answered him before he could speak. “She do know he would never harm a soul,” she assured him, “but feelings don’t always follow what we know. T’will take time for her to grow comfortable with any man, I think.”

“Yes…I had noted a reticence about her, since I came back from London. More so than on the few occasions we met before her marriage.” He was looking through her, rather than at her: remembering something, perhaps, some encounter with Morwenna that he was now thinking over with fresh eyes. Then he refocused on her, frowning again. “This will help, you think? Having Sam elsewhere?”

“Sam thinks so,” she nodded, “and I agree. She feels safe with Drake, but t’will take time, for others.” He hummed an agreement, and was silent again for another few minutes. She knew for herself what a shock it was, to hear such a thing had happened to someone so closely connected to them, and was glad enough to give him time to think it through. At last he sighed, and rolled forward a little so he could press a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m glad she trusted you with it,” he said. “And of course Sam may have the cottage. I’m pleased somebody wants it, in truth. It’s been a grave marker for too long.”

“That’s what I thought,” she smiled. “We’ll make it fitty for him. He offered rent, but I said we wouldn’t take it.” 

“No, no, of course not.”

“But Ross, I think _you_ should tell him.” He lifted an eyebrow at her quizzically, and she reached for his hand, clasped it in hers. “’Tis a feeling I have,” she said, which was no real answer, but answer enough. “Will you?”

“If you insist,” he grumbled. But the grumbling was for show, and they both knew it.

* * *

“Sam, may I have a word?”

“Of course, brother.” Sam shook his hands dry and straightened up, offering Ross a polite smile. He’d been filling a bucket at the well. Given what he now knew about the situation there, Ross wondered whether Sam had used the chore partly as an excuse to leave the cottage, for Morwenna’s sake. Or perhaps not. Sam never shirked work. No matter what else Ross might feel about him, nobody could fault Sam for his diligence. He was a hard worker in all things: home, mine and meeting.

It was the latter, of course, that had always put Ross’s back up, with Sam. He had seemed so very pious, when he’d first come to Sawle, and, not content with his own holiness, he’d been determined to spread it among all those he came across – Ross included. Ross didn’t mind Sam’s beliefs, nor any man’s religious inclinations, but he hated the show of it. What went on between man and God was, he had always felt, a private business. He had no objection to church-going in general, so long as he didn’t have to partake of it. Christmas and St Sawle’s day were all he would put up with, and those grudgingly, for Demelza’s sake. But he’d met too many vicars who took livings merely for their own gain, not to spread a genuine message of Christianity, for him to be keen on the trappings of church. Not that he’d ever been able to think Sam one of those. Still, Sam’s piety had stuck in his craw for a long time, and it didn’t help that he’d never been keen on Methodism in general.

At some point, something had changed. Maybe it dated from when Sam had been love struck, showing a different side of himself. Possibly it had been the flooding of the mine, when Sam had risked his own life to save others. Or perhaps it was merely Demelza’s influence on them both, softening Sam’s attempts at converting all the world to Methodism and blunting the edges of Ross’s temper. But one way or another, an unspoken accord had grown between them: Sam no longer tried to convert him, and Ross no longer showed frustration when Sam insisted on praying before a meal or speaking of what the Lord had given him. Indeed, he’d developed a respect for Sam that could not be denied. This latest suggestion only solidified that respect. He would never be as friendly with Sam as he was with Drake, who was an altogether different character, but it was a better relationship than it had been, and he knew Demelza would be pleased with the conversation that Ross intended to instigate now.

“Demelza’s told me about your wish to leave the cottage to Drake and Morwenna,” he said, turning with Sam to begin the walk up the hill towards the cottage where Sam had lived these past few years. “And a little of why.” 

“’Tis a terrible thing, she’s lived through,” Sam said, quietly, to keep from being overheard. “T’would be a kindness to her for me not to be there, I think.”

“I agree,” Ross nodded. “It’s a kind thought.” Up ahead of them, he could see Drake in his forge. He was glad Sam had persuaded the younger brother to come back to Sawle, rather than staying on in the burnt-out smithy – not least for Demelza’s sake. She liked having her brothers close at hand. “I’ve had a look at Reath Cottage,” he went on. “It needs more than a day’s work to make it comfortable. The roof has half fallen in, and the chimney. You’ll need new stones, not just timbers.”

“I could make it fitty enough, just for I,” Sam protested. By mutual, unspoken consent, they paused well before they reached the cottage, where Morwenna must be. This was not a conversation she needed to hear. “T’would not be the first time I’d slept in a place with a draft or a bit of damp, and I need little save a bed and a bible.” 

Ross shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to gaze out at the sea. “Your sister would have my head if I left you to quarter in such a state,” he said. “And rightly so. No, we’ll get you stone, and between the three of us, I think it can be done within a week.”

“The three of us?”

Ross glanced at him sidelong. “You don’t imagine I’d leave my brother-in-law without a roof over his head, when I’ve two good hands to put to use?” he suggested, keeping his voice mild. “Yes, the three of us. You, Drake and I.” Sam opened his mouth to speak, but then sighed, seeming to decide silence was the better option. “We’ll take no rent for it, of course,” Ross said after a moment. “All I ask is that you keep it in good repair.” Sam nodded, but Ross had more to say. “I agree it will be better for Morwenna to be just with Drake, for now, so given the state of Reath Cottage, I hope you’ll to come to us at Nampara until it can be made ready.”

That startled Sam; no doubt he had not expected such an offer. Demelza would have made it, of course, but Ross knew well enough that his past impatience with Sam would make the younger man wary of imposing too much. He’d seen it before, occasionally, when Sam had hesitated over an invitation to dinner, or taken pains to avoid close conversation with Ross. It was Ross’s fault, if it was anyone’s, but he knew Sam better, now. When he wasn’t in the role of preacher, Sam was a good uncle to the children, and a good brother to Demelza. She’d said, more than once, that she couldn’t manage without he and Zacky at the mine, when Ross was away. It was about time Ross acknowledged all that, and time he made an effort to make sure Sam knew things were different now. Some settling of accounts was necessary. Not just Reath Cottage, which was after all more for Morwenna’s sake than Sam’s. No, Ross had something else in mind. He’d talked it over with Zacky, and Zacky had agreed wholeheartedly with the course Ross was set on. Zacky wasn’t getting any younger, after all, and he’d admitted to Ross that Sam might well be a candidate for his replacement, at some stage in the future.

“If you be sure, brother, I’ll come, and gladly,” Sam accepted. “I do think Morwenna will be easier without me. ‘Tis not that she truly believe I could do her a harm, you understand, only she be so afeard from what’s passed before.”

“Nobody could believe you wished to harm anyone,” Ross said, with a wry smile. Sam’s mouth twisted and his eyebrows lifted, an expression of mirth that made his resemblance to Demelza suddenly quite strong. It made Ross all the more determined to make things official at the mine. “There’s something else I wish to discuss with you,” he continued. “You know, I think, how much Demelza relies on you and Zacky, when I’m away.”

“’Tis a pleasure to help her,” Sam said earnestly. “Though truth be told, save that she comes not  
below with a pick, there’s little she needs our help with!” 

“That’s as may be,” Ross muttered, reminding himself that he must again forbid her from doing such a thing, in case she took it into her mind to do so, “but I say she does rely on you, and I hope you know I’m grateful.”

“Of course. There’s no need to say it, brother.”

“I think there is,” Ross insisted. “You and I have not always been friends, and I want you to know it’s a great relief to me, when I’m away, knowing that you’re here to support Demelza.” Sam was practically blushing, shuffling his feet and looking at the ground. It was difficult enough for Ross to say such things; for someone of Sam’s modest nature, hearing them must be extremely uncomfortable. “I’ve talked it over with Zacky, and we’d like you to be underground captain for the mine,” he said abruptly, looking back out at the sea again to give Sam time to recover himself. “The workers listen to you already, but this will give you the proper authority.”

“Brother –,”

“It will be a great help to Demelza,” he added, hoping to avoid any undue gratitude. “The pay is only a few shillings extra, and knowing you, you’ll give it all to the poor relief fund, but there it is. The position is yours.”

“Brother,” Sam repeated, somewhat helplessly, “the Bible do teach that ‘tis not for one man to set himself above others.”

“And that’s precisely why you’re fitted for the job,” Ross retorted. “You don’t set yourself above others, so they’ll take instruction from you. I won’t take no for an answer, Sam, so you’d better get used to it.” He faced Sam head-on, not letting the other man do anything other than look squarely at him. “For Demelza’s sake, if not your own,” he said, offering Sam his hand. “Well, brother?” 

Sam looked hard at him for a long moment, as if he realised that this was about more than the mine position, more than the gift of a cottage. Then he nodded, and shook Ross’s hand.

“Thank ee, brother,” he said quietly. “Gladly, then. And I’ll come to Nampara tonight.”

“For supper,” Ross instructed. “I’ll tell Demelza we’re expecting you.” He added that to make sure Sam would arrive; nobody liked disappointing Demelza, Sam included. “Bring Drake and Morwenna too, if they’d like. Though perhaps she’ll prefer to stay home tonight.” He heard the sound of the door opening, behind them, and turned to watch Morwenna make her way across the street, towards the forge. A frail, vulnerable thing she looked, but she must have strength beyond measure, to endure what she had and yet to choose to pursue happiness. He’d never quite understood what Drake saw in Morwenna, though he knew well enough that love moved in strange ways. Now he couldn’t help but admire her. Slight and unassuming, she’d withstood more than her fair share of troubles, and had emerged unbowed. 

“She have endured a powerful wickedness,” Sam said, also watching Morwenna. “But I think with Drake’s love, and the Lord’s hand to guide them, she’ll be well, in the end.”

“Amen,” Ross said, ironically. “Amen to that.”


End file.
